Despair
by FoRgOtTeN2
Summary: The story of a struggling young Somalian boy and a group of Marine Aid Corp volunteers trying to understand the hardships of his country.


"I lay on the cold, hard ground, staring into the night sky. The great expanse of bleak darkness stretches across the horizon, with not a star in sight. I am oblivious to my surroundings, focusing my mind on the sounds of the night. One with an untrained ear may hear little, possibly the occasional chirp of the cricket. But after spending two years of my life as a young warrior, my keen senses are well honed.  
  
The screech of a hyena pierces the night air. I pull what remains of my cloak tighter around my shivering body, and huddle closer to the various other people sleeping on the ground. I know many of them are sick - some of them dying. But I do not care. I still edge closer to them. The hyena's cold laughter floats across the rolling African plains, and I close my eyes tightly, slowly yielding to the lure of weariness. Moments before sleep takes me, I try to reminisce what life was like before the disaster happened. Is this much better than how it was back home? Before I can ponder anymore, I drift into a state of deep slumber."  
  
It happened one fateful day, two years ago in my homeland. Our people had suffered the worst famine since the year my mother died. She had contracted a deadly disease. We only knew it as the disease. I knew she was going to die. We had told her everything would turn out okay. I knew it wouldn't.  
  
Nothing that will ever happen to me will match the excruciating pain that my mother went through. But she was strong; she shed no tears. As her son, though, I could see right through her. Behind the impassive façade she bore, hopelessness and despair had taken her.  
  
The day my mother died, I didn't mourn. For perhaps, I mused to myself, death was better than this suffering. Perhaps she was free from all this disease, death, and despair. Most of us waited in our huts. Waiting for the end. Perhaps, death truly was the answer. No escape. I huddled in my hut, and lied down. Maybe death would come soon.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Skcots Cira sat lazily on the truck, watching the scenery whiz by his eyes. He lay his head against the wall, and tried to divert his mind from the various sounds that called out from his surroundings. He was tired. He and other members of the Marines Aid Corp had spent the whole day helping refugees across the Somalian border.  
  
Torn by war, Somalia is one of the most poverty-stricken countries in all of Africa today. It is not only torn by disease (AIDS), but also civil war. Ever since the 1993 massacre of eighteen American Rangers in Mogadishu (the capital of Somalia), the US government tightened their grip on security and safety in African operations. In fact, the relief operation currently in progress had already been deemed extremely dangerous by the government.  
  
Cira yawned. The warm sunlight beat on his body, giving him a sense of serenity. As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, his eyes began to droop. Soon, Cira was fast asleep. It had been a long day. A very long day.  
  
* * * * *  
  
But death didn't come. It seemed like I had been jinxed. People around me - people I knew, trusted, and loved - all died. My mother, my brother, my best friend.all dead. They all fell to the disease. In the end, my father came up to me.  
  
"Mykefu," he said gently. I sat propped up against our hut - one that now seemed so empty. I looked up at my father, who smiled sadly at me. He was a tall imposing figure, but now his aura that made him once so very regal and royal was gone. He now seemed a sad, dejected person.  
  
"We must go," he said softly. "There is no place for us here."  
  
And so, with that, with nothing in hand, my father and I left the village that our ancestors had lived in for so very long. We trudged dejectedly along the dusty road, leaving all behind. Soon, our village was just a speck on the horizon.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The truck slowed to a gradual halt as it parked itself near the Aid Corp's camp. Cira jumped off the truck, and squinted up at the bright sky. The sun shone brightly, reflecting against the sleek anti-flash sunglasses that covered his eyes. Cira was of average height, about five foot eight. He had short dark hair, his Aid Corps cap covering it. He was well built, his muscles finely shaped. Cira's body was weathered and hardened from the harsh reality of Africa, gristly scars covering his chest and arms.  
  
Cira had been a football player on the college team. He was easily the smallest man on the team, but he was the fastest. At the tender age of 24, Cira was the youngest military member of the Corp team. Most of the workers were civilian volunteers, giving up their time - and possibly risking their safety - to come to Somalia and help the refugees. After whisking through college, clever Cira was immediately drafted into the Marines by a watchful recruit sergeant. And now he had landed in Somalia, helping the Marines Aid Corp in their goal to save the refugees.  
  
And what a goal it had been. Perhaps it wasn't worth it, thought Cira, as the Marine Aid Corps camp suddenly turned into hell.  
  
* * * * *  
  
An ear-shattering explosion came from the mountain. I looked up, curious yet frightened. I was already in great fear, for my father had been separated from me a few days ago. He had told me he was going hunting. He never came back.  
  
I scanned the horizon, looking for any evidence of explosions. Perhaps the rebels had struck again, bombing another building or such. I heard screams and shouts in the distance, but I couldn't make out where they were coming from. I shrugged, and continued to make my way down the road.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Meanwhile, Cira was in hell. Gunshots fired from different directions whizzed through the air, cutting down people immediately. The driver of the truck, John "Big Gun" Jasons, instantly crumpled to the floor, victim to a barrage of bullets from an unknown assailant.  
  
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire area. Cira dropped to the floor as a large piece of shrapnel hurled across the camp. It crashed, violently throwing several men to the ground. Various hollers and screams echoed throughout the camp, as several men dressed in army fatigues suddenly burst out of the bushes. They were masked, and gripped AK-47s.  
  
Military members of the Corp that were still standing quickly whipped out their guns, including Cira. He nervously gripped his M16 Carbine, pointing it at the nearest attacker. Suddenly, he froze in fear, recognizing the men for who they were. They were Somalian rebels - the cause of the 1993 massacre in Mogadishu.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was night. Cira and other Marine Aid Corps had managed to rid of the rebels. It was sad. Only after handing them several cheap valuables and a persuasive word or two, the rebels left, content with what they had. They were very desperate.  
  
And so with one casualty and a few major injuries, the Marine Aid Corps moved to a safer place where they set up a medical camp, treating the wounded and burying Jasons.  
  
Cira lay in his bed in his tent. He looked up at the moon and gazed up. He pondered slowly to himself. How amusing it was to know that 5 million other people in Somalia were probably gazing up at the moon also. And they need help, Cira told himself.  
  
I had better get to sleep, he thought. Fearful of what was to come, Cira tried desperately to fall asleep. The night was long.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I was tired. I had traveled for many days, without any food to spare. Game was scarce in these parts, and so I had no choice but to continue on with my stomach complaining all the while. My feet were blistered and bleeding, cut by the sharp rocks and bitten by the snakes that lay in hiding on the ground. I had little strength left within me, and I weakened even more as the day went on.  
  
Soon my strength had been all sapped from my weary body. I struggled to take single steps, and soon my breaths became short rasps. Stumbling, the world began to spin around me. Everything turned dark, and I fell unconscious.  
  
It was not a few hours later when I awoke. I found that I had fallen asleep near an oasis. What luck! Thanking the gods, I staggered over to the pond, and began drinking straight from it. The water ran down my dry throat, its taste refreshing me completely. I felt anew, my strength revived from its stupor.  
  
Not soon later did I find some actual game in the savanna that surrounded me. A deer was enough to suffice for my empty stomach. I feasted on it that night. Slowly, my body had been completely refreshed.  
  
Feeling strong and healthy, I settled down for a good night's sleep - the first one in a long time. But before I fell asleep, many memories and images flashed in my mind. My mother.my brother.my friends.even my father. They were just memories now. Sadness seized my heart, and I silently cried myself to sleep that night.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Cira strode along slowly, following the sandy road that lay before him. It stretched long and far, way beyond the horizon. He looked up at the bright sky. Clouds floated gently across as the sun shone brightly down on Cira. He yawned. The group had woken up extremely early this morning, putting Cira in an extremely grumpy mood. They wanted to be on the move. Reports told of refugees to the south.  
  
Known for his hot temper and impatient manner, the rest of the group knew well to avoid him. He walked in back of the whole group, slowly taking his time to actually "wake up". After what seemed long hours of walking, the Corps came upon the rainforest.  
  
The air was hot and moist. Cira shuddered in his thick army attire. It was hot. Extremely hot. Flies and other bugs roamed the skies, flying throughout the entire area. Monkeys and the such wandered the trees, swinging from tree to tree curiously watching the group's every movement. On the leafy grounds slithered snakes and other creepy-crawlers. Animals filled the entire place.  
  
The Corps continued to trek further and further toward the center of the rainforest. Sunlight grew less and less until it could barely penetrate the dense layer of trees that towered above the group of people situated in the middle of the place. All of a sudden, as the group continued to walk deeper into the depths of the forest, Cira felt something. Something was wrong.he knew it.  
  
But what?  
  
* * * * *  
  
I shuddered. Here I was - naked, tired, and sick. Sick of all this. I wanted this all to end. This madness. This nightmare. After I had woke up, I had spent the whole morning walking through the savanna, until I reached the rainforest. There I entered, hoping to find a village or other humans.  
  
I knew it had been a bad choice from the start. But once I was truly "within" the forest, I knew there was no way out but to walk out the way I had come. I knew - but I had lost my way.  
  
There was nothing to do but to continue walking in the direction I was originally heading. Suddenly, I felt something sharp jab into my ankle. I yelped in pain, and bent down to face my attacker - bent down just in time to see a spotted snake slither away.  
  
I cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have seen the bright spotted snake a long time before it would have reached me. As an accomplished warrior back in the village, my tutor, Asluvak, probably would have scolded me. But I was weary and torn apart from the inside. I was helpless. I felt the venom of the snake slowly course through the rest of my body. Death would come soon. Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes behind me. I faintly heard the sounds of people talking.  
  
"Is that young one a native?" "Looks like it. He's a strong one, this boy. Probably a warrior or something like that. Look at those muscles. Definitely a warrior." "Would make good money in the slave business, don't you think? Let's catch him." "I don't care how much he'd cost. I will do anything for money here in this dump. Get him and carry him with us."  
  
I didn't care anymore. Hopefully, I thought, I could join my mother, brother, and friend in the afterlife. I lied down, my eyes beginning to droop. I felt myself being lifted up, and carried away.  
  
The last thing I heard was a shot. Shouting filled the air as I fell unconscious.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Cira was running. The group had split up to find an exit. Gunfire had been heard. It was deafening, and the fact that the atmosphere was so silent made it even more frightening. Cira jumped when the first shot had been fired. Shouts had been heard over the shooting. But soon, the firing had ceased. Questions ran through Cira's mind. What happened? Who had attacked?  
  
He was eager to find out. He and the rest of the Corps not involved in the gunfight began running toward the "battlefield", after a flare had been shot up into the air. If there were refugees, they had to be helped. Were their people okay?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Cira's team was the last to arrive at the scene. There the whole story was revealed to him. Apparently, the people had bumped into a group of desperate rebels looking for slaves to sell. Two children had been captives taken by the rebels. One was still at the scene, being currently treated for a venomous snakebite.  
  
The rebels had been taken down, after it was made apparent that no negotiation was to be made. After the rebels had suffered numerous casualties, including their leader, they gave up and fled the scene.  
  
Cira sighed. That was the problem with poverty. Those rebels weren't bad guys, but men who cared for their family. Men who wanted to make enough money to support their family. Men who were now dead.  
  
Cira and his team slowly walked to the scene. A tall black youth stood admist all the people running around, treating the wounded. Cira smiled gently at the young man, and took his hand.  
  
"Come," said Cira. And then he led him toward the clearing in the rainforest. There, like angels, American helicopters began to land; their doors were wide open, waiting for them. The kid looked up at Cira and smiled.  
  
"Come on," he called, motioning his hand toward the helicopters. "We're going home."  
  
Mykefu, along with Cira wearily strode toward the waiting aircraft. He never looked back. Never looked back at the country torn by death - and despair.  
  
THE END 


End file.
